Swimming Lessons

“Mama, look!” Lovie called out, pointing. Her voice was high with wonder. “The turtle walked around our sandcastle! Wasn’t she nice?” Little Lovie clapped her hands and took off like a shot.

Toy laughed lightly, her amazement stirring her own childlike wonder. “You good ol’ turtle,” she muttered. The turtle tracks did, indeed, travel up to, then around, the sand castle seemingly not wishing to disturb it. Her gaze followed the turtle tracks up to a small circular mound on the dunes that was the turtle nest. Already a small cluster of people gathered around it. She recognized Flo’s shock of bright white hair and Cara’s glossy brown, Glenn’s sun helmet, Grace’s short dark curls, and…who was that lean, leggy redhead? She called out with a wave and began walking toward them.

“The turtles are here!” Flo exclaimed, raising her arms high in triumphant welcome. Her voice bubbled with the excitement they all felt. The joy was visceral. This nest signaled a beginning of their summer’s vocation. Hopes were flying high that it would be a good season.

Cara turned and waved in welcome from her spot farther down the beach near the castle where she was measuring the tracks. Little Lovie came crashing into her legs, wrapping her arms around Cara. Grace and Glenn offered Toy hugs while accepting her congratulations for being the ones to find the season’s first nest.

Turtle volunteers were a dedicated and loyal bunch. Toy knew all of the eighty people who took turns walking the beaches early in the morning to search for turtle tracks. Yet of all these, Grace and Glenn were special. In their late eighties, they put the young’uns to shame. They rose earlier, walked farther, and never missed a day. Toy thought it was divine justice that they found the season’s first nest.

The redhead walked toward her. “Hey, no kiss for me?”

Toy looked at the tall woman again, and recognition clicked. “Emmi? Is that you?”

“In the flesh.”

“Whoa, you look….” She sputtered, trying to find words other than so much better.”

“Don’t go on about it,” Flo said. “We’ve been paying her compliments all morning and it’ll go to her head.”

“You and the first nest, here on the same day!” Toy said.

“All’s right with the world,” Emmi replied.

Toy hugged her and felt the truth in that statement.

“If you’re done chatting, can we get started here?” Flo called out. She was eager to find the eggs. She lifted her hands to cup her mouth and called, “Caretta!”

“Coming,” Cara replied, tucking her notebook in her backpack. She brought Little Lovie up to the dune with her. “The tracks measured twenty-seven inches. That’s a pretty good sized turtle. And the nest is high up on the dune. I think this mama picked out a very nice spot for her eggs.”

“Yep, she done good,” Flo confirmed, nodding with satisfaction. “We can leave this one right where it is. Now, let’s find those eggs.”

On cue, the four women brandished their probe sticks like swords. Toy felt the air tingle as they gathered at the turtle’s nest. The hunt was on!

Toy used to believe finding the eggs was a matter of chance, but as the seasons passed and she gained experience, she came to realize there were field signs that pointed the way. The female loggerhead aggressively camouflaged her nest by throwing sand. But if Toy followed the inbound tracks, she could figure out in which direction the turtle lay when she dropped her eggs. The group studied the tracks as Flo put her probe to the sand and carved a circle around the large body pit.

Flo offered Toy the chance to take the first turn at probing for eggs. She chose a likely spot then carefully, oh, so gingerly, pressed her probe stick into the sand. She bent her knees, leveled her feet and took a breath. Steady now, she told herself as the probe slid into the soft sand. The first probe of the season was always like the first time she’d probed a nest. She remembered Miss Lovie guiding her through it.

“Easy now, child,” Miss Lovie had said in her melodic voice. “Don’t be in such a hurry. The eggs aren’t going anywhere. Let the stick slide into the sand nice and slow. Bend your knees. If you feel the sand break away beneath you, stop! You can’t be bumping into an egg!”

That was every turtle lady’s greatest fear—to be in such a hurry that she poked through an egg. It rarely ever happened. For her, not one egg out of the thousands she’d found in five years. Nonetheless, breaking even one made a person feel hang dog contrite and it spooked you for the whole season. And, of course there was the not-so-gentle ribbing that came from the turtle team.

Toy felt the sand grow hard under her probe, a sign that the eggs were not there. She moved to another spot only an inch away. Then to another. Then another, seeking the soft spot. After her turn, Emmi began the same process. Then Cara, taking turns at probing. Ten minutes later, the mound of sand was dotted with small holes. The sun was rising and a tourist taking a morning’s walk on the beach wandered over to see what the commotion was about, only to coo with excitement at her luck. Just when Toy thought this was going to be one of those tricky nests that kept them probing for hours, Cara’s probe dipped sharply into the sand.

Collectively they gasped and leaned forward to watch as Cara went on hands and knees to dig with her fingers. Once the soft sand was found, probes were abandoned. Cara dug away the sand from the spot, going deeper and deeper, letting the soft sand sift through her fingers. Little Lovie leaned against Toy’s legs, looking far into the hole, hoping to see eggs. Sometimes it was a false alarm and they all went back to probing. But they could smell the musky scent of eggs and were hopeful.

Cara’s arm was in so deep her shoulder was almost touching the sand. Her face was turned slightly upward and her dark brown eyes were shining in anticipation as her hand followed the trail of softer sand.

Toy watched, envying Cara a little for her natural elegance, even in such an awkward position. Miss Lovie had always said that Cara looked more like her father, a tall, raven haired, chiseled man. But Toy thought that the older Cara got, the more she resembled her mother. Not that Cara would ever be the petite and blonde belle that Miss Lovie was. The resemblance was more in the softness of expression one moment, the elegant lift of the chin at another, the air of confidence, and the constant gracefulness that came, Toy believed, from generations of breeding.

Toy sighed, flashing back to her own mother’s words. They’d been shopping on King Street and her mother had spotted a fancy-dressed woman walking down the street with an air of elegance.

“Can’t learn that in no school,” Toy’s mother had told her. She’d clucked her tongue and pointed. “Look at her. Women like that, they’re Thoroughbreds. It’s in their blood.” Her mother’s husky voice had rumbled with belligerent admiration. It still hurt that she’d called Toy a “good work horse.” Toy felt the same stab of shame she’d felt then and shook her head to expel her mother’s voice. Why’d she always have to be so mean-spirited? Instead, she replayed Miss Lovie’s words of encouragement in her mind.

“We’ve got eggs!” Cara exclaimed, retrieving a perfectly round, white egg out from the nest. Little Lovie was on it faster than a tick on a dog, begging for a closer look before Cara gingerly put the egg back into the nest and covered it back up with sand. It never failed to amaze Toy how a turtle egg looked exactly like a ping pong ball. Glenn and Grace moved forward to put their names on the stake, claiming the nest as “their own.” The hunt was over.

As Flo bent to put the markers on the nest, Toy stepped back and pulled her instamatic camera out from her backpack. First she took a photograph of the turtle tracks circling around Lovie’s sandcastle. Then she went down on one knee and brought the little cardboard box to her eye. Through the narrow lens, she focused on the cluster around the nest, three adults and one child, shoulder to shoulder, laughing. It was a nice, standard group shot.

Zooming in, however, she discovered magic in the details—the wind tousled hair, bits of sand on the faces, and in all the eyes a childlike wonder and infinite hope for this, the first nest of the season.

Part 2

Hold your breath! Kick your legs hard and reach far with each stroke.

7

The following day, the Aquarium received a third sick turtle. The loggerhead was brought in by Department of Natural Resources from Kiawah Island. The local news stations were on hand and did a brief report on the rescue of the juvenile loggerhead from beyond the breakers. Toy laughed when she saw the clip because the men standing on the shore didn’t want to get their feet wet. It took two slender women from DNR, DuBose and Charlotte, to wade out into the surf and pull the turtle in. This turtle had three glaring slashes across the shell from a boat propeller. Toy called this third patient turtle Kiawah.

Three days later, a fourth turtle was found by three young men who were out fishing for the day. They’d discovered a turtle trapped by the lines of a crab pot in Hamlin Creek. Being good ol’ boys, they couldn’t just leave him there. Every time the turtle brought his head up for breath, the rope tightened. They couldn’t get the turtle unattached so they cut the crab pot loose and brought the pot and turtle both to the marina themselves. Their biggest worry was that they’d get arrested for stealing a crab trap.

Toy hurried to the marina and met the heroes at the dock. It was one of the saddest cases Toy had ever come upon. The rope from the crab pot had nearly cut clear through the flipper. Given the barnacle load and the emaciation, she guessed the poor turtle had to have been tangled up for several weeks. Toy called this turtle Hamlin.

Bringing two new turtles into the Aquarium caused a flurry of impromptu decisions. They couldn’t put even one more turtle on Ethan’s already crowded floor.

“It’s just like in the bible,” Favel had said as they measured the space for possibilities. “There’s no room for them in the Inn.”

“Well then, we’ve got to find a stable,” Ethan had replied.

The stable turned out to be the cavernous basement of the Aquarium. It was being used for storage. Ethan and his dive team chipped in to move gear out and clean a corner of the area for the small tanks that Jason scrounged up for the initial fresh water baths. It was a temporary solution at best. By the end of the first week, with two tanks upstairs and two downstairs, Toy was exhausted at running up and down all day. Her supplies were tapped, as was her food budget. She didn’t know how she was going to make it through another week.

Her prayers were answered by the kindness of strangers.

In the days following the television report, the Aquarium received an avalanche of donations from local people who had seen the program and wanted to help the poor sick turtles. Most of the checks and cash were in small denominations, tens and twenties, and each one was welcomed. There was the occasional $100 check and one for $500 from a Good Samaritan that sent the whole staff cheering. School children took up collections that totaled a couple hundred dollars. Other children wrote heartfelt letters and donated their allowances and emptied their piggy banks. Toy could hardly believe that strangers would care so much to send in their money to help, especially the children. Their generosity and care brought tears to her eyes.

Jason wrote a letter to the editor of the newspaper to officially express the Aquarium’s thanks to the good people of Charleston for their help and support. Sure enough, that letter brought another flurry of donations.

Seemingly overnight, Toy found her small rehabilitation effort was the center of attention at the Aquarium. But she knew she really was in the limelight when the Aquarium’s President called her up to his office for an impromptu meeting. It was the first time she’d been invited to a powwow in Kevin’s office and her stomach fluttered as she brushed her hair in the bathroom and changed into a fresh T-shirt.

On the top floor, the administrative offices were sleek and polished. Toy stepped inside the president’s corner office and was drawn to the huge plate glass windows that provided a spectacular view of the Charleston Harbor. Jason and Ethan had joined them, and across the room, Kate and Kim from the Development office were seated, dressed in dark power suits.

“Come in,” Kevin said warmly, rising to a stand and waving her in. He was young, brilliant and in full possession of the gentlemanly manners that were appreciated in the South.

Ethan also rose to offer Toy his chair then crossed his arms and leaned against the wall behind her. Everyone was in an upbeat mood, buoyed by the public’s support for the sea turtles.

“I’ve got some great news,” Kevin said, opening the discussion. “The Board met and it looks like we now can consider building an official sea turtle hospital at the Aquarium. Kim, can you give us a brief report on the available resources for the hospital?”

After Kim’s report they began to discuss how to handle any more turtles that were likely to be brought in.

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